CHAPTER 42! CLUB
The club pulsed like a dying heart, choking on its own excess.
Pink and blue strobes carved through a sea of bodies, while cigarette smoke, cheap perfumes, and the sour tang of alcohol blurred into one suffocating haze.
The bass climbed through the black floorboards, vibrating violently beneath the soles of Aadhira's shoes.
The smell instantly reminded her of every single warning Maa had ever given her about places like this.
The moment she crossed the threshold, her stomach twisted. She wrinkled her nose, shielding her face with one hand.
"It smells like someone spilled perfume over stale smoke,"
she muttered, her voice swallowed by the speaker stacks.
"How do people even enjoy this place?"
Riya laughed, leaning into her ear over the roar.
"Give it time! You'll get used to it."
"I really don't think I ever will," Aadhira murmured, her shoulders tightening.
Rohan grinned from her other side, rubbing his palms together.
"Relax, birthday girl. It's an acquired taste. Give it five minutes."
Five minutes mein toh oxygen cylinder chahiye hoga, she thought miserably.
It didn't even take one minute.
Every breath left a dry, metallic film on her tongue.
Hyperactive strobe lights made her temples throb, and sweaty strangers brushed past without a backward glance.
It was precisely what she had envisioned a club to be-and everything she fundamentally loathed.
"I can't dance to this," she said, her voice tightening with an urge to flee. "I'll just sit."
She retreated to the edge of the room and sank into a shadowed corner booth. Watching the chaotic mass on the floor, she felt entirely out of place.
For a fleeting second, her thumb hovered over her phone, an instinct urging her to call her mother just to hear a familiar voice.
Before she could press the screen, Samarth materialized beside her.
His movements were fluid, as though he had anticipated her hesitation.
"Hey. You okay?" His voice was a soothing balm, laced with patient concern.
"I just... I really don't like it here, Sam."
His reassuring smile never faltered.
He reached out, his thumb gently caressing the soft skin of her inner wrist, just below her new silver bracelet.
"I know, sweetheart. It's loud. Let's get you settled. It'll get better."
He gestured toward the long neon counter. "Wait here. Let me get you something to clear your throat."
He returned less than two minutes later, balancing two tall, frosted glasses.
He had collected them from the bar the moment the bartender slid them across, handing one directly to her.
Aadhira looked down, a small frown forming. "Maa made me promise... and Bhai reminded me twice. I'm not drinking alcohol."
He chuckled softly, a low, melodic sound. "Relax. It's orange juice. I watched them make it."
She looked at the vibrant amber liquid, then up at his dark, steady eyes.
"Are you sure, Sam?"
"When have I ever lied to you, love?"
The effortless familiarity made her shoulders drop. "Okay."
"Happy birthday."
Their glasses touched with a dull clink. Parched from the heat, Aadhira took several long, deep gulps, letting the cold liquid soothe her throat.
The sweetness washed away the metallic bitterness on her tongue.
Across the room, Rohan had dragged half the group onto the dance floor. Riya waved enthusiastically for her to join. Aadhira smiled and shook her head, mouthing, "You enjoy."
She leaned back into the booth. Maybe she had overreacted.
Then, five minutes later, her bracelet began to feel unnaturally heavy.
Lifting her hand required conscious, agonizing thought.
Slowly, the thumping music became muffled, receding into a delayed, distant echo.
Her jaw felt strangely loose, her tongue thick and heavy against the roof of her mouth.
She blinked, but her eyelids felt weighed down by lead. The neon lights stopped flashing and began to stretch, bleeding into long, nauseating smears across her vision.
Her heart gave a slow, unnaturally sluggish thud against her ribs. Numbness crept into her fingertips.
This isn't fatigue. Something is wrong.
"Why is it so hot in here...?" she whispered, her voice sounding thin and alien.
Riya, laughing nearby, paused and leaned across the table.
"Aadhi? You okay?"
"I... I don't feel well." Her trembling fingers lost their grip on the glass. It tipped over, orange juice pooling across the dark wood, but her hands refused to obey her command to clean it.
A cold, primal knot of panic tightened in her chest.
With an agonizing amount of effort, she dragged her phone out of her purse. The screen doubled, the numbers swimming together.
Her thumb scrambled blindly across the glass until she found the one contact that meant absolute safety.
Shourya.
The call connected before the first ring finished.
"Aadhira?"
She couldn't form the words. Her breathing was ragged, shallow.
"Kya hua bacha?"
On the other end of the line, Shourya froze mid-step. His keys slipped from his fingers and clattered sharply against the concrete.
Every nightmare he had buried since the day she was born came alive in a single broken syllable.
"Bhai..." The word didn't come out as a call; it was a broken, frightened whimper.
The background noise on Shourya's end vanished instantly. "Kiske sath ho? Kaha ho tum?"
"I... I don't feel well. Everything is spinning."
"Stay where you are," his voice cracked like a whip. "Main aa raha hoon. Kisi ke saath mat jaana, samjhi?"
"Please, Bhai... mujhe ghar le chalo."
Three floors below the concrete jungle, Shourya Agrawal was moving at a dead sprint toward the basement parking lot. He checked his watch and swiped open the tactical overlay on his phone.
His jaw locked hard.
The underground transit deal Aryav had personally assigned to him was happening right now, less than two miles away.
The perimeter was locked down; the buyers were waiting. He calculated the distance-he needed at least forty minutes to close the exchange.
Forty minutes he didn't have.
If he walked away, the entire Singhania line would collapse, triggering a war that would reach Aadhira anyway.
Only one man could reach her in time.
He gripped the phone tighter. "Aadhi. Listen to my voice right now. Listen to me carefully. I am sending Aryav."
Even through the dense fog suffocating her brain, the name struck a chord of instinctual resistance. "No... not him, Bhai. Please. He doesn't even smile..."
"Smile kare ya na kare, usse farq nahi padta," Shourya said, his voice tight as he unlocked his car door. "He'll bring you home safely. Stay exactly where you are. Do not step outside alone. Do not leave with anyone. Do you understand me?"
"Okay..." she breathed.
The line clicked shut.
Across the city, thirty-six stories above the gleaming skyline, the air inside the Singhania boardroom had gone dead still.
Twelve senior executives sat rigid at the long mahogany table. At the head sat Aryav Rai Singhania.
He hadn't uttered a word in ten minutes, reviewing shipping manifests in cold silence.
The silence was absolute-until the phone resting on the wood vibrated once.
It was the single private line that bypassed his security filters during a closed-door meeting.
Aryav picked it up, his dark eyes fixed on the file. "What?"
"I need a favor," Shourya's voice came through, raw with desperate vulnerability. "Something's wrong with Aadhira. She's at the Blue Pulse Club. She's barely conscious, Aryav. I'm asking you... please."
Silence stretched over the line.
Aryav remained seated, unblinking. His thumb tapped once, deliberately, against the paper.
Then, he stood.
His massive frame dominated the room. All twelve executives scrambled to their feet in unison, chairs scraping against the marble.
Aryav pocketed his phone, his face unreadable.
"Continue."
Nobody moved. Nobody asked why. Nobody was foolish enough to.
Within ninety seconds, four black sedans rolled out of the underground garage in perfect silence. Nobody honked. Nobody overtook them.
Traffic simply moved aside. Real power never rushed.
In the club, Aadhira forced her uncooperative limbs to move. She pushed herself up from the booth, her knees buckling instantly.
"I... I'm leaving," she slurred, gripping the table edge for dear life.
"Lean on me," a gentle voice whispered right beside her ear.
It was Samarth. She obeyed instinctively, her body giving out against him.
Only then did his hand clamp shut around her waist-fingers digging hard into her ribs, pinning her trembling frame flush against his side.
To anyone watching, it looked like an attentive boyfriend supporting his drunk partner.
"My brother is coming," she muttered, her tongue clumsy. "I'll wait outside."
"You don't need to do that." His grip tightened, steering her away from the crowded floor into a dimly lit, narrow service corridor behind the bar.
The heavy fire door shut, instantly smothering the roar of the music.
"Let me go..." she whimpered, trying to twist away.
Her eyes met his, searching for the warm, familiar boy she had known for years.
He wasn't there. The warmth was entirely gone, replaced by cold, empty eyes that looked straight through her.
"Zidd mat karo, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice dangerously calm. "Good girls don't make things difficult. Three years of patience... don't make me waste them." He leaned closer, a terrifying smile touching his lips.
"You don't even know how beautiful you look when you're scared."
Panic sliced clean through her chemical fog.
If something feels wrong... leave immediately.
"No!"
With every residual ounce of strength left in her body, Aadhira dug her heels into the carpet and shoved his chest.
Samarth, unprepared for her to fight back, stumbled backward a single step.
His fingers slipped from her wrist.
That second was all she needed.
She turned and ran.
Her feet slipped on the floor, her shoulder clipping a bar cart, but raw terror kept her upright.
She burst through the fire doors, tore through the crowded dance floor, and threw her weight against the glass doors of the main entrance.
The freezing night air hit her face like a sheet of ice, shocking her lungs. She stumbled onto the pavement-and froze dead in her tracks.
Beneath the harsh white lights stood Aryav Rai Singhania.
Motionless.
Like the calm before someone's world fell apart.
A predatory black sedan sat idling directly in the VIP lane. Four security personnel stood in quiet formation behind it.
Aryav's dark eyes shifted-from her wildly unfocused gaze, to her trembling hands, down to the faint red mark blooming beneath her silver bracelet.
His gaze lingered there for exactly one heartbeat.
He asked no questions. He demanded no explanation. He simply stepped back and opened the rear door.
"Inside."
Too exhausted to fight, her instincts recognizing the shield he represented, Aadhira stumbled forward and collapsed onto the leather seat.
The door clicked shut, the locks engaging with a heavy snap.
Outside, Aryav never looked away from the club doors. Behind him, car doors opened and closed.
Heavy boots struck wet concrete as his men moved silently toward the entrance.
Somewhere inside the club, Samarth still believed he was hunting.
He had no idea... the predator had already arrived.
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